The Bighead (34 page)

Alexander moaned, pinned naked now on
his back. The voices, and faces, blended together then, like wax
under high heat.

“
Where’s that
lube?”

“
Right there.”

“
Give it here. I’m gonna
fist this pious fucker. I’ve always wanted to fist a
priest…”

`Alexander, pinned as he was, tried to
push his mind away, to some other place. He knew that this was just
a dream—all the stress of his life building up, added to Halford’s
deceptions about the abbey, plus the specific revelation regarding
the murders.

Not simply a child, he recalled the
monsignor’s testimony.

A
monster
-child.

A fist glistened in the lamplight,
like a hand dipped into glycerin. The priest’s legs were abruptly
parted.

First one finger, then two, then
three…

Into his rectum they
wormed.

Then four…

Christ Almighty, stop
it!

Then all five.

The entire fist seemed to fill his
bowel like a big fruit. It urged back and forth, twisted
around.

“
All priests are actually
queer,” one nun said. “That’s why they flee the world for the
priesthood, to deny what they know of themselves. They’re really
queer. They love to have things stuffed up their asses.”

“
I’m not queer!” Alexander
bellowed, snapping against his bonds. “And I don’t want
anything
stuffed up my
ass!”

“
A Freudian contradiction.
People always deny what they really are…”

“
Oh,
fuck you!
” Alexander screamed. “I’m
sick of hearing that liberal bullshit!”

Chuckles. Giggles. “Then how come
you’re getting hard?”

Was he? So what! This was a demented,
stress-related nightmare. He couldn’t be held
responsible…

The small, greased fist churned in his
bowel, pummeling his prostate. “Yeah,” one of the nuns cooed. “This
is great, isn’t it? I’m fist-fucking a priest up the ass. Always
wanted to do it, used to finger myself thinking about it. And that
schmuck Downing? Shit. I wish I had a dick so I could stick it all
the way up his ass and come.”

“
I was lying on the abbey
floor bleeding to fucking death and I swear that asshole was
undressing me with his eyes.”

“
All priests
do.”

“
I’m surprised he didn’t
fuck both of us.”

“
Who would’ve known? No
one.”

“
Shit, maybe he did and we
just don’t remember.”

“
I’ll bet he did! I’ll bet
that old crevice-faced motherfucker fucked us!”

Alexander, though, was missing most of
the conversation. After all, it was hard for a priest to maintain
much of an attention span while an Epiphanist nun was fist-fucking
his ass. He winced as he felt the hand open and close inside of
him, stroking the inside of his large intestine.

“
He fornicated with
prostitutes in Viet Nam.”

“
Bad boy!”

“
And you know what else he
did? He killed people.”

“
A killer priest, oh my!
Well how do you like
this
…killer?”

Alexander’s stomach quaked; he felt as
though some brutal, living thing were inhabiting his
bowel…

“
Blow him.”

The priest shouted, “No!”

“
Make him break those phony
vows. Make him come.”

The fist continued to eddy in and out.
The other nun’s mouth descended, engulfed his half-hard penis. It
wasn’t half-hard for long though; in perhaps ten seconds it had
fully enlivened in the confines of the nun’s mouth.

“
Can you imagine?” the
fister queried. “This guy hasn’t fucked in years. Can you imagine
how much spunk has built up?”

“
He probably jerks off
three times a day,” the fellatrice paused long enough to
remark.

“
I don’t jerk off!”
Alexander bellowed. “I haven’t jerked off in over a
decade!”

“
Yeah, right. Just like you
didn’t kill kids in Viet Nam.”

“
I didn’t kill kids! I
killed the enemy! I killed NVAs because if I didn’t, they would’ve
killed me!”

“
Murder is an impediment to
the priesthood, asshole.”

“
I didn’t murder anyone! It
was justifiable homicide! It says so in Vatican II!”

And with that, Alexander’s hips
convulsed. A vaguely familiar sensation arose: something rising to
escape—

“
Jerk him now.”

The hand opened and closed inside.
Another hand grasped his spit-slick shaft and stroked. When
Alexander opened his mouth to moan, hot jets of semen flew into
it.

“
Out
rag
eous! We just made a priest come
in his own mouth!”

“
I wonder if he’s even
aware of the existential symbology of that. I wonder if he knows
what that means.”

“
He’s too stupid. He’s too
hung-up on that cocaine blonde.”

Alexander spat his own semen out of
his mouth, to rebel. “I am not hung up on—”

“
Shut up, asshole.”
Then—

schlap!

Alexander barked a shout as the fist
was quickly withdrawn.

“
Should we shit in his
mouth?”

“
Naw, no time. Christ,
we’ve only got so much time.”

“
You’re right.”

“
But I gotta pee. And he
likes to be peed on.”

“
Let ’er rip.”

The priest’s head rolled back and
forth in the midst of this outrage. One of the nuns hoisted her
habit-skirt, bared the ever-familiar pubic bush. And then it came,
the amber cascade, spurtling in a gentle arc directly into his
mouth.

Alexander gagged, his face
pouring warm liquid. It stung his eyes.
I’m going to drown in a nun’s piss…

The stream moved, forcing itself into
his nostrils. He felt the heat jet up his sinuses, as if seeking
his brain.

“
Yeah, Sartre would love
this!”

When the cascade subsided, the other
nun cackled like a witch, and wiped her smeary hand off on his
face, a gelatinous conglomeration of Noxema and his own
excrement.

“
We’re ghosts, Father. Did
you know that?”

“
I had an idea,” Alexander
gasped.

“
You think that because
you’re faithful, you’ll go to heaven?”

“
Yes! I know I
will!”

“
Stop being so selfish,
killer. We were faithful too, and look where
we
are.”

Alexander got the point.

The figures began to dissolve.
Alexander could taste hot urine dipping down his nasal passage to
his tongue.

“
Watch out for The
Bighead,” one of them said.

The voices drifted, like distant
surf.

The macabre light of nightmare
dimmed.

“
Don’t go in the basement,
Father…”

(II)

“
Dicky! Git the strap
wrench!”

Dicky squatted in the bushes, his
pants down, his bulbous buttocks jutting like twin moons. “Aw,
Balls, gimme a sec, I’se takin’ me a dump!”

“
Wells hurry up!” Balls
called back. “And that coil’a rope too, the heavy
stuff.”

Whatever it was Tritt Balls Conner
planned ta do, Dicky knew it wouldn’t be purdy. They’d been stakin’
the boarding house when they jacked the big kid out with Balls’
homemade jack, throwed him in the back’a the ’Mino, an’ drove here,
the bluff on the other side’a Kohl’s Point. Boone River could be
heard a-gushin’ a hunnert feet down.

“
And bring yer shitrag,
too, Dicky!”

My—
“Aw,” Dicky moaned. Frownin’, he wiped his crack with an old
oil rag, then jacked his jeans back up. Walkin’ back ta the dell,
he complained, “Balls, what’n tarnations ya want my shitrag
fer?”

Balls cut a grin in the moonlight,
pointed down. “Gag that cracker.”

“
Aw—”

“
Just do it! An’ git that
other stuff I tolt ya.”

They’d stripped the big kid
nekit and hog-tied him. He were just comin’ to when Dicky, quite a
look’a distaste on his face, stuffed that shitrag in the fella’s
mouth an’ tied it in with some twine. Then he went back to the El
Camino ta hunt down the rope and the strap-wrench.
What he wanna strap-wrench fer anyway?
he wondered. Gawd knew! Whiles rummagin’ through
the tool box, though, he could hear Balls already gittin’ ta work
on the kid, a real weird muffled sound as the poor kid got ta
screamin’ beneath that shitrag gag. “Ooooo-doggie!” Balls
celebrated. “An’ Dicky? Bring them loppin’ shears too.”

Dicky rolled his
eyes.
Balls in another’a his crazy
moods,
he realized. Weren’t no talkin’ him
out of it neither. Dicky found the strap-wrench and then the
loppin’ shears, which he kept in the box fer when they needed ta
cut the metal bands on the pallets’a moonshine. He alsa found the
rope, fifty-foot worth problee.

And that hog-tied kid were floppin’
fierce in the dirt when Dicky came back. “What’cha do,
Balls?”

“
Dug his eyes out with my
buck. Lookit!”

Dicky winced. Two bloody eyeballs
looked up at him from the ground, and it were a weird feelin’. “Hi,
cracker!” Balls exclaimed, wavin’ at them eyeballs. A reglar
comee-derian, he were. Then he stomped on the eyes hard with his
boot. The eyeballs popped.

Balls shook the kid’s head around by
the hair. “I just stepped on yer eyeballs, cracker! How you like
that?” In the moonlight, Dicky could barely make out the sight’a
the kid’s gagged face, two holes where his eyes’d been. Balls
grabbed the loppin’ shears then, and—

snick! snick!
snick!

—
took ta clippin’ off the
kid’s toes’n fingers. Each
snick
of them shears caused the kid ta jerk against his
tied wrists’n ankles.

snick! snick!
snick!

“
Lordy, this is fun!” After
a lot more snickin’, all them fingers’n toes’d been clipped right
off, an’ Dicky could see ’em sittin’ there on the ground. Weren’t
much blood, though, on account’a how tight Balls’d tied the
wrists’n ankles.

“
Lookit! The big dumb
cracker’s passin’ out.”

“
Shee-it, Balls. Maybe he
up’n died. Why not just cut his throat so’s we kin git outa
here.”

“
Hail, Dicky, quit bein’
such a wuss all the time. He ain’t dead. This a big
strong
cracker. Got a
lotta spark left in him. Nows gimme that there
strap-wrench.”

Dicky did so an’ watched,
still not quite dee-duckter-ive enough to figger what Balls had in
mind fer his fun. Balls were kneelin’ now, an’ what he done next
was he wrapped that thick canvas strap right around the kid’s
dick’n balls, and Balls hisself, he didn’t flinch ’bout handlin’
another fella’s privates, no sir. He slipped the end’a the canvas
strap through the latch-slot, then started a’crankin’. “Balls?”
Dicky asked, still kinda mystified. “What’choo doin’?” “You’ll
see,” he were told through Tritt Balls’ grin. Soon he’d cranked
that strap so hard, this big fella’s cock’n balls was locked so
tight over that wrench strap they was stickin’ out and
throbbin’,
they was.
Balls’d fixed that wrench ta the fella’s works so tight that
nothin’
would be’s able
ta pull it off. But then he took the end’a that rope an’ fed it
through the hole on the wrench handle.

And then—

“
Dicky, ties the other
end’a the rope ta that there tree over yonder.”

Now Dicky were beginnin’ ta see. He
did as tolt, tyin’ a hard knot, the rope leadin’ back ta the
strap-wrench clamped hard ta this big fella’s pecker. Balls were
slappin’ him in the face.

“
Wakes up, cracker! Ya
don’ts wanna miss the fun now, do’s ya?” He slapped harder, an’
then the fella’s eyeless head started ta move. “I dugs yer eyes
out, ya dumbass ’Ginia cornhole, an’ I’se clipped off yer fingers’n
toes. An’ it were
fun!
” Balls throwed his head back an’ laughed so hard Dicky coulda
swored the trees shook overhead. “Nows it’s time fer ya ta be on
yer way,” he said next, still shakin’ this poor kid’s head back’n
forth, “I wants ya ta know that I’ll’se give that purdy city
blondie yer regards when I’m’se yankin’ her guts out her
cunt!”

By now, with the bluff just a few
yards away, Dicky knew full well what it were Balls had planned. He
an’ Balls, then, picked the convulsin’ kid up on either end ands
carried him ta the edge. Dicky looked down just once, he did, an’
could see the churnin’ river an’ rocks in the moonlight.

“
One!” Balls shouted. “Two!
Three!”